
All 
Around BRUNSto 

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Uncle Alec's Philosophy 




AW Around Brunswick 



— OR— 



Uncle Alec's Philosophy 




Jill Around Brunswick 



—OR— 



Uncle Alecs Philosophy 



-By- 
ANNIE O'CONOR 



Illustrations bu 

PIRQINUI HILSMAN BLANTON 




Published bu 

QLODER BROTHERS 

Brunsipick, Qa. 






1*?%*! 



COPYRIGHT 1922 

BY 

THE AUTHOR 



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§)CI.A659955 



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FOREWORD BY THE PUBLISHERS. 



It has not been our practice to publish books although 
we have often printed them for different writers in this 
city. However, upon reading the verses in Miss O'Conor's 
book, "Right Around Brunswick", we have decided to 
publish it ourselves at our own expense and to assume 
the sales management. 

Our reasons for doing this are as follows: The book 
fills a long-felt want in this vicinity; it is a book about 
Brunswick and is written by a native Brunswickian ; it 
makes an attractive souvenir for the hundreds of visitors 
to our city, and it gives to Brunswick people in a simple 
and accessible form a beautiful and intimate description 
of Brunswick and its surrounding islands. 

Glover Brothers 
Publishers 



PREFACE. 



The beauty right around Brunswick has been sub- 
limely described by Sidney Lanier in his immortal work, 
"The Marshes of Glynn"; its history ably written by 
several. 

But beauty dwells ever "right around Brunswick", 
and history is being enacted every day. 

The negro of the Old South is rapidly becoming his- 
tory or even myth. Soon, modern trucks or, perhaps, air- 
craft will bring to the door of the housewife, fresh prawn, 
fish, and oysters; the familiar figures of the negro men 
rolling their wheel-barrows, and the negro women with 
their picturesque baskets of scarlet crabs and prawn and 
silver fish will disappear from the southern stage. 

Who in Brunswick has not seen Alec, the little old- 
timey fisherman, trundling his battered wheel-barrow 
down the street, or heard him chant in the low voice 
of the old, his improvised melodies? Who has not recog- 
nized his quaint humor, shrewd judgment nor envied him 
his cheerful philosophy? 

Some of the sayings in these stories have been quoted 
from his monologues. Rythm and euphony have not been 
sacrificed in order that some intricate design of dialect 
should be carried out. 

Primarily the object of this book is to please; 
secondly, to keep in verse a description of the beauty 
of this section, and thirdly, to preserve a few of the tra- 
ditions of the Old South. 

—A. O. 



Six o'clock in the Morning 



F-I-S-H, F-I-S-H. 

Here's yo' nice fresh fish, but no summer 

T-R-O-U-T, 
And some are not; de summer T-R-O-U-T am 

out. 
Hi, kitty ! See dat varmint tryin' ter steal ! 
He mus' be think dem fish is cheap es eel. 
Now cat, de Good Book say yo' mus' not take 
Yo' neighbors' goods, an' so, for pity's sake, 
Don' cheat yo' neighbor outer T-R-O-U-T today, 
Here eat dis croaker head, now scat away. 
Am' got no T-R-O-U-T er tall. 

F-I-S-H, F-I-S-H ! 

Here's yo' fine fish; ain' got no T-R-O-U-T today. 

Dat mek 'em listen close ter w'at I say. 

Well, ef I hab good luck I sell 'em all, 

An' den I won' need nuttin' f'om nobody er tall; 

Ef I don' fin' nobody ter buy 'em, 

Ole Miss'll gimme lahd an' meal ter fry 'em. 

Fish, Fish. Ain' got no T-R-O-U-T T-O-D-A-Y. 

Hi, dere, you gal. W'at dat yo' Missus say? 

Don' wan' no mullet? Want er string ob trout? 

W'itin' ain' mullet. Bring dat quahtah out. 

Ain' got no T-R-O-U-T er tall. 



SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. 



F-I-S-H, F-I-S-H! 

Here's yo' nice fresh fish, today, goin' by. 
Whey de w'ite folks ? Dey am' blink dey eye. 
Here's yo' f-i-s-h. Ain' got no T-R-O-U-T 

T-O-D-A-Y. 
Comin', comin', hi, gal : w'at dat yo' say ? 
Is I got T-R-O-U-T today ? No : I got wi'tin', 
Ain' yo' know dey ain' no T-R-O-U-T abitin' ? 
Don' wan' 'era? How dem w'ite folk gwineter 

know? 
Time you git 'em cook' dey's T-R-O-U-T for sho'. 
Ain' got no T-R-O-U-T er tall. 



F-I-S-H, F-I-S-H! 

Here's yo' fish, TWO STRINGS FOR TWENTY- 
FIVE CENTS, 
Apiece. Ain' dat price temptin' Proverdence? 
Fish, fish; ain' got no T-R-O-U-T today, 
Hi, gal, yes I be dere yesterday. 
Ain' got no T-R-O-U-T ; de summer trout am out 
How dem folks gwine know hit ain' er T-R-O-U-T ? 
W'at diffunce does dey know in any fish ? 
All fishes looks er lak erpon er dish. 
Ain' got no T-R-O-U-T er tall. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



IDhere the Pelican Catches Fish 

Some folks libs in de country, 

Some folks libs in de town, 

But Fs gwineter lib whey er sea-sho' is 

Des es long as Fs hangin' 'round' ; 

Whey de ocean ro' an' de swif ' tides po', 

An' de ma'sh-grass laugh and swish, 

Whey de wil' duck bides an' de ma'sh-hen hides 

An' de pelican catches fish. 

Whey de pelican catches fish I's gwine 

Ter stay an 'pitch my tent; 

Ain' none o' dem folks w'at's passed er way 

Can tell us w'ich way dey went ; 

Or whedder dem tides am rollin* high 

On dat sho' as I would wish; 

So w'il's I may I's gwineter stay 

Whey de pelican catches fish. 

O, mens w'at's bohn near de sea may go 
An' follow strange gods afah; 
De god ob wealf an' de god ob fame 
Wid dey wagons hitched ter er stah; 





WHERE THE PELICAN CATCHES FISH. 



But wheyeber dey go, w'en de moon sails high 
Dey can heah dat spring-tide swish; 
An' dey sigh fo' de Ian' ob a day gone by 
Whey de pelican catches fish. 



CThe Little Shadows 

Dere's a strong norf 'easter blowin' 

An' de tide am comin' in, 

An' dem little wabes am flowin' 

Right agains' dat norf-eas, win', 

An' dem ma'sh-grass reeds am bendin' 

Ripplin' lak a fieP ob wheat, 

Whils' its seeded fronds am sendin' 

On de air hits odors sweet. 

See dem long green rushes bendin' 

Bendin', bowin', sweepin' wide, 

Wid dem blue-green watehs blendin', 

Ripplin, ripplin' wid de tide. 

W't's dat run ercross de wateh, 
Des a little wabe ob win'? 
Man, yo' don' know all yo' oughteh, 
Look ! Dat little wabe ergin ! 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Stahts right here whey Fs a sittin', 
Runs right todes dem jetties gray, 
Flies des lak a ghos' w'at's flittin' 
F'om de cur'ous eyes erway. 
Man, dat ain' no wabe er driftin' 
Skippin' trippin', slippin' by; 
Tain' no little shadder siftin', 
F'om dem clouds up in de sky. 

Ain' yo' heard dem sailors tellin' 
'Bout de way dey loves de sea, 
How hit's voices am compellin' 
Dem ter linger whey hit be? 
See dat little wabe er flyin' 
Watch hit o'er de wateh flow ! 
Cain' yo' hear dat voice er sighin', 
Sighin', dyin', gittin low? 
W'at yo' say, yo' neber hear it ? 
Man, hit's true as skies above, 
Dat's some sailor feller's spirit 
Sailin' o'er de spots he love. 




s 
4 



ALEC GOES FISHING. 



Mec Qoes Fishing 

Whey dat boat? Am' I done tie 'er 
Right ter dis same piling yere? 
Some dem t'ievin' fishers spy 'er, 
Call hit stealin' ? dey don' keer. 
La !. Dey'd take a duck w'ats settin' 
Lef ' dem aigs ter git a wettin' 
Lef ole Mr. Drake a frettin', 
Dey ain' got no honesty. 

How dis worl' is I er gwineter 
Git my fishes fer ter-day? 
Take dis boat Fs mos' er min' ter 
Fo' dis ebb-tide gits er-way. 
Whey dat boat gone f'om dis wateh? 
Maybe dat ebb-tide done caught 'eh, 
Cya'ied 'er whey hit hadn' ougteh, 
Ter her dahk grave in de sea. 

La! Dem w'ite-caps looks enticin' 
Wes' win' 'gainst de ebb-tide blow; 
All dis time Fs sacrificin', 
Whey dat boat I lak ter know? 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



My, but ain' dem wabes invitin' ? 
I kin almos' feel dem whitin' 
At dem fresh w'ite prawn er bitin', 
Goodness gracious ! Whey dat boat? 

Hi, dere boat! Now Lord hab mussy 

On a sinner sich as me, 

01' an' mean an' cross an' fussy, 

How'd I know whey hit would be? 

Look at dat! Dat boat's er driftin' 

Whey dem sneakin' current's shiftin' 

Driftin' boats is allers liftin 

Tell ter wrack deys sho' ter float! 

Come yere boat ; w'y don' she try ter 

Make some effo't todes de sho'? 

No : Looks lak she's try'n ter fly ter 

Plum destruction's open do'. 

Ain' she act des lak er human? 

Boat, you sho, mus' be a woman, 

Disobeyin' den persumin' 

You won' come ter suttin grief! 

Why I wondeh cain' she sorteh 
Drif ' er little bit todes me, 




ALEC GOES FISHING. 



'Stid ob whey she hadn't orteh 
Driftin', driftin' out ter sea. 
All right boat, des take yo' pleasure, 
Drif ' er long des at your leisure, 
Ole Man Neptune's got yo' measure, 
For er coffin and er wreaf ! 

Well, dis boat I hab ter borrer 
Fer ter git 'er 'fore she goes 
Into suttin grief an' sorrer 
On some shoal w'at no one knows; 
Now I got you — no you neber 
Tried our mutual ties ter seber 
Yes, I's sho' 'twas yo' endeabor 
Des ter stay whey you was tied. 

My, how easy you obeys me, 
Swingin' 'bedient ter my wish ; 
Dat's alright ; yo' 'ceit don' phase me ; 
But I's got ter ketch some fish. 
Wes'ward now de win' am settin', 
Plenty bitin' now, I's bettin', 
Ter de spot I'll soon be gettin' 
Whey my shinin' frien's abide. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



How dem little ripples splashes 
'Gains' de bowsprit of my boat, 
How dem little w'ite-caps flashes 
As erpon de wabes dey float. 
Dere! Look libely! Sumpin' bitin', 
Jerk dat line ! Look how he's fightin' ! 
Laws a mussy ! Wat er whitin' ! 
Lak ter got de bait an' hook! 

Cas' dat line er-gin. My gracious! 
Don' drap in befo' hit's out; 
Dem dere fishes bites ou' dacious, 
Lawsy, dere's a summer trout ! 
Dere's a little islan' gleamin' 
Whey de ma'shes is a dreamin', 
An' de sea gulls des a screamin', 
Dere dis trout I sho' gwine cook. 

Dere's anodder little islan' 
Whey some rich wi'te folkses stay, 
An' I year dere time dey's whilin', 
Beggin' hit ter run erway. 
Dey don' keer how fas' hit's fleetin', 
All life needs is des completin', 
Dey don' even keer 'bout eatin'. 
An' I year dey buys dere fish ! 





ALEC GOES FISHING. 



Buys dere fish! Would you beliebe it? 
Buys de fish anodder caught! 
Buys dere fish! I cain't conceibe it! 
La ! Who'd eat a fish w'ats bought ? 
W'at you say? . How comes I ketch 'em 
An' ter odder peoples fetch 'em? 
Dat's alright; I neber tetch 'em 
After dey has seen er dish. 

In de eas' de sky am glowin* 
An' de sun shoots up on high; 
Looks lak some big rose er growin' 
In de gyahden ob de sky ; 
An' de flood-tide swif'ly risin' 
Comes er-long wid speed surprisin' 
Hit am time I is surmisin', 
Fer some quiet spot ter look. 



Ripples froo de ma'sh am runnin' 
Ma'shes des er bowin' down; 
See dat Jointer's islan' sunnin', 
Far away f'om man an' town ; 
Dere my boat will soon be lyin' 
Whey dey ain' no folkses pryin', 
Some nice place I'll soon be sypin' 
Whey my breakfast I kin cook. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 




Here we is close to de islan', 

Easy boat; now step right out; 

I gwine tie you ter dis pilin' 

W'ils' I cook an' eat dat trout. 

Now he's dressed, I's gwineter slap him 

In dis paper sack an' drap him, 

On dis stone whey ashes wrap him, 

Make de fire strong an' hot. 

See dat sof blue smoke er-curlin', 
Smell dat bacon sizzlin' hot, 
Set dat hoe-cake batteh whirlin', 
Git dat little coffee, pot ! 
Let dem rich w'ite folks eat fishes 
Off'n silver forks an' dishes, 
Dey kin do des as dey wishes, 
But I'll take w'at I is got. 




SUNRISE ON ST. SIMONS. 



Sunrise on St. Simons 

Sunrise on St. Simons, 
Gulls begins ter fly, 
Des kin see dere shadders 
Flittin' 'crost de sky ; 
Ducks git busy swimmin', 
Sand-pips hops er-roun', 
Skimmers des er-skimmin' 
Surf begins ter soun\ 

Sunrise on St. Simons, 
Watch dat light go out; 
Froo' de long night watches 
Hit's been prowlin' 'bout: 
Red, den w'ite, den yeller, 
One long search-light shine, 
Welcome sailor feller, 
Sailin' 'crost de brine. 



Sunrise on St. Simons, 
Long w'ite stretch ob san', 
Shinin' in de sunlight, 
Lak de Glory Lan' ; 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Good mohnin' ter St. Simons, 
Good mohnin' ter de tide: 
W'ateber's on hits odder sho's 
I's glad I's on dis side. 

Large boats and Small 

I was fishin' dere an' sunnin* 
Des es still es still could be, 
An' dem watehs come er-runnin' 
Wid er message f om de sea. 
How dat tide would soon be comin' 
Wid a wide and reckless sweep, 
An' I heerd a mighty hummin' 
Comin' f'om de ocean deep. 

Dere was little clouds a-shiftin' 
In de sky des lak er train ; 
An' dem little shadders driftin' 
Tol' a secret 'bout de rain. 
Dere was little white-caps breakin' 
On dem jetties col' an' gray, 
An' de ma'sh-grass, hit was takin' 
All de glory ob de spray. 




LARGE BOATS AND SMALL. 



I could yere dem darkeys singin' 
W'ils' dey load dat cotton ship, 
As my line I was a-flingin' 
Hopin' for ernudder nip; 
I could see dem w'ite mans workin' 
In dem office buildin's hot, 
An' I ain't no han' fer shirkin' 
But I's glad fer what I's got. 

An dem skies git blue an' bluer 
An' de sun his bright eye shet; 
An, dem bites get few an' fewer 
As de tide to lan'ward set; 
An' dem waters f 'om de ocean, 
Lak de skies, git blue as well, 
An' I kinder had a notion 
Dey was closin' lak a shell. 

An' I says, "now look yere water, 
Fer dem skies you bes' not fret, 
You des stay right whey you orter, 
So dis clam-shell hit won' shet; 
'Cause if dat sky git much clos'ter- 
I am' f roo wid livin' yet ; 
Do I'd hate ter, I'd be fo'ced ter 
Take my chance ob gittin' wet." 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



So I set dere kinder dreamin' 
Wid my fish-line in my han', 
Wis' de flood-tide hit was streamin' 
An' I bless dis mighty Ian'; 
An' I says, "should trouble ebber 
Lak a cloud dis country drape, 
Hit will be my true endebber 
Fer ter git her out de scrape." 

Well I hadn't finish' speakin' 
W'en a great loud noise begin! 
Sich a-yellin' an' a-shriekin' 
An' a mos' unyearthly din! 
Sich a-whistlin' an' a-blowin' 
Den, a long, continued scream, 
Seem' lak all de world was goin' 
Up in one big puff ob steam. 

Den I see a vessel comin' 
Wid a million sails outspread, 
W'ils' de shriekin' an' de hummin' 
Was ernuff ter wake de dead; 
She ain' need no tug ter lead 'er 
As she skum dem waters green; 
"La!" says I, "Hits a torpedor 
Or leas'ways a submarine!" 




el 



Vt^ 



LARGE BOATS AND SMALL. 



"Whew!" says I, "de wah am stahted, 
Say farewell to Dixie Lan'!" 
Wid my fishin' line I pahted, 
Wi'lst dem oars foun' my han'. 
Lawsy ! Am' I done some rowin' 
Wi'lst dat gre't ship trabbled in 
Wid her canvass all er-flowin ' 
An' her loud, unyearthly din. 

But I chanced ter look behin' me 

An' I seen her goin' slow, 

An' I knowed no one could fin' me 

So I waited fer de show; 

W'en so he'p me goodness gracious ! 

W'at mek all dat noise I learn 

Was a little la'nch oudacious 

Right beside dat big ship's stern. 

How she flutter an' she sputter 
How she run an' jump an' screech; 
How she grumble an' she mutter, 
At de boats w'ich she could reach ; 
She sho' sass dat vessel proper 
An' she aim right fer de dock, 
An' fore anyone could stop her 
She had gib her nose a knock. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 




But dat gre't big vessel passed her 
Lak she didn' know her name; 
Do' you nebber would hab classed her 
Wid no ships as wasn't game; 
Lak a w'ite swan did she nestle 
By dat dock wid grace an' poise, 
An' I low, "dat gre't big vessel 
Nebber mak a bit ob noise!" 





m 



ALEC GOES MA'SH-HEN HUNTING. 




WBIm+on 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Mec Qoes Ma'sh^tien "biunting 



Wat dat noise I year out yondeh? 
Who dat shootin' so I wondeh? 
Gracious, gaze erpon dat ribber ; 
My, dem w'ite-caps make me shibber; 
How dem little reeds does quibber 
In dis col' norf 'easter win' ! 

Look at dat spring-tide er floodin' ; 
Ma'sh looks lak young grass er buddin'; 
Des er little fringe er rimmin' 
Town an' bay lak feather trimmin' ; 
Look lak all de worF am swimmin' 
W'ils de tide's er rushin' in. 

My, er stiff norf 'easter' s springm' ; 
Little skits ob rain hit's flingin' ; 
An' dat flood-tide am er swellin' 
Roun' dem little ma'sh-hens' dwellin' 
I's er 'fraid 'twill be compellin' 
Dem ter leave dere ma'shy bed. 




'/-■&, 



ALEC GOES MA'SH-HEN HUNTING. 



Dat full moon las' night come trippin' 

Out de wateh des er clippin', 

Sailed er-long wid w'ite clouds spreading 

Lak a bride w'at's proudly treadin', 

On de w'ite clof at her weddin', 

Wid er w'ite wreaf roun' her head. 

Who dat doin' all dat firin'? 
My, but ain' dem shots inspirin'? 
Lemme git my ammunition, 
Jine right in dat compertition, 
Who dat talkin' 'bout permission? 
Got er license? W'at am dat? 

Lemme git my boat ter goin', 
Look shahp an' you'll see some rowin'; 
Lemme git berhin' some islan' 
Whey dem hens dere time is whilin', 
Dat game wahden's game I's spilin', 
He won't know whey I is at. 



Whey am dis spring tide er goin'? 
Dis year bay am ober-flowin', 
Ma'sh an' jetties disappearin' 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



But dey's right below I's fearin', 
Keerful, Alec, watch yo' steerin', 
Or yo' sholy come ter grief. 

Dat's de way a man gits married, 
Nebber mindin' whey he's carried 
By dem wabes ob love er-rollin', 
Swif an' fas' an' pas' controllin', 
Ain' no wahnin' bells er tollin' 
On de mattermonial reef! 

Whey is I? I's got er notioin 

I's er-rowin' in der ocean, 

Watch, dat flood-tide how hit's flowin' 

All dem little islan's goin\ 

Soon dere won' be nuffin' showin' 

On dis lan'scape but my boat. 

Row up Alec, sen' her flyin', 

You cain't nebber tell who's spyin' ! 

Has 'e ter some good place ob kibber, 

Ober in dat sheltered ribber, 

Den de goods you may delibber 

W'en dem hens bergins ter float. 





ALEC GOES MA'SH-HEN HUNTING. 



Lawsy, look dere! Five, eight, seben, 
Da's right Ma'sh-hen, come eleben ! 
I am' rtebber seed so many, 
Wondeh ef dem mens got any? 
I ken tu'n an hones' penny 
Sellin' dese yer hens ter-day. 

My, de win' am sho' er risin, 
Dis spring tide hit am surprisin' 
Out dere nes' dem ma'sh-hen wary ; 
Look out hen's don' ac' contrary, 
On dis string you's tied so nary 
One ob you kin git erway. 

Dis norf win' am gittin' chilly, 
Roun' de p'int hit's blowin' shrilly ; 
Gray clouds risin' out de ocean, 
Flyin' wid determined motion, 
Meetin' wid a great gray po'tion 
Ob de heavens movin' eas\ 



See dem clouds er shiftin', shiftin', 
Thin w'ite mist er driftin', driftin'. 
I got hens ernuff for dinneh 




ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



An' to sell ter some po' sinneh; 

Wen dem clouds get somew'at thinneh, 

Hit gwine rain free days at leas'. 

Who am dat de wateh plyin'? 
La ! Dat motor boat am flyin' ! 
Hit's dat wahden sho' as preachin', 
How dat whistle am er screechin' ! 
Soon dis spot he will be reachin', 
Lemme git my ma'sh-hen string! 

Tie hit ter de keel an' hide 'em, 
Let my fish-line float berside 'em. 
Hi, dere Misteh ! "How is fishin' ?" 
I des settin' yere er wishin', 
Dat dis flood-tide staht er swishin' ; 
Nip tide sho' do beat de spring. 

(Look at dem dere hens er-risin', 
Ain' dem critters tanterlizin' ?) 
W'at you say? Is ma'sh-hens flyin' 
Roun' dis spot whey I is lyin'? 
(W'at he mean by dat?") I's tryin' 
Ter remember w'at I see. 




ALEC GOES MA'SH-HEN HUNTING. 



"Wat's dat risin' out de wateh?" 
I cain't see things as I orteh, 
String ob ma'sh-hens ! Well, I nebber 
Had sich things ter happen ebber! 
Wait er spell w'ils' I endebber 
For ter 'splain dis mystery. 

I des had my fish-lines stringin' 
And dat flood-tide kep er bringin' 
All dem hens, an' dey got tangled 
In my line de w'ilst I angled ; 
'Pears ter me dey mus' er strangled, 
Ef I don' make no mistake. 

W'at he mean by all dat laughin'? 
Wondeh was he des er chaffin'? 
Dat man laugh tell he was cryin', 
Den dat motor boat went flyin' ; 
Wondeh w'at he was implyin', 
Sayin' "Alec takes de cake". 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 




Early Spring 

Prawn! Prawn! Here's yo' nice fresh prawn, 

goin' by! 
Hey, folks, see dat sun up in de sky. 
Hit's a mawnin'-glory shinin' wid a rosy kin' ob 

linin' 
Lak de inside ob a sea shell, pink an' fresh, 

widout er flaw. 

Prawn! Prawn! Here's yo' nice cooked prawn 

goin' by. 
Look shahp, Alec, on dem kitchens keep yo' eye. 
Wat dat lady dere a-callin'? Is dey raw? Ain't 

dat er-pallin'? 
Wen dey's raw dey wan's 'em biled an' w'en dey's 

biled dey wan's 'em raw? 

Prawn! Prawn! Yes, deys raw; leas'ways dey 

ain' cooked much; 
I des stuck 'em in de wateh fo' dey feel dat hot 

sun's touch; 
Mebbe w'en I wahn't er lookin' dey des natcherly 

kep' on cookin'. 
Here's yo' nice fresh prawn goin' by! Choosiest 

ol' thing I eber saw! 




THE SEA OF COURAGE. 



CThe Sea of Courage 

La ! Dat spring-tide hit am er-floodin' 

All de woiT right ter de Ian'! 
See dat fresh, green marsh er buddin' 

On dem ol' brown ma'shes' stan', 
An' de cranes and ma'sh-hens risin', 

Sailin' 'roun' as if surmisin' 
Dat a good big school ob fishes 

Gwine ter soon be right ter han\ 

Dere's a big ship gittin' ready 

Fo' de tu'nin' ob de tide ; 
She's er sittin' still an' steady 

Tell hit's time fer her to glide; 
An' her canvass hit am flowin' 

'Gainst de time hit's right fo' goin', 
Lak de glory ob de sof ' w'ite vail 

Dat floats er roun' er bride. 



Now she 'scribes er half-moon leeward 

Wid her anchor as de pin, 
An' her prow is pointin' seaward 

Fo' de tide stopped comin' in ; 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Now wid easy, graceful motion 
She am sailin' tode de ocean, 

She am makin' ebb her highway 
An' her chauffeur is de win'. 

Dere! She's gone, des lak she's flyin' 

Lak a airship f'om de groun', 
She done spurn dat san'-bar lyin' 

Twix' de ocean an' de soun'; 
Todes de wide, wide sea she's headin' 

All her w'ite, w'ite canvass spreadin', 
An' de win' an' wabes will help her 

Cause she knows des whey she's boun'. 

Yes, she knows dem storm await her, 

Lightnin', thunder, tempes', gales, 
Dat dem calms lakwise belate her 

Wen de bad man holds de sails; 
But she's gwine ter make a venture, 

She won' wait for praise or censure, 
In de game of chance hit's courage 

An' not caution w'at avails. 

She is done fergot her moorin's, 
Done fergot de harbor still, 





THE SEA OF COURAGE. 



Done f ergot de tug's conjurin's, 
She kin stay dere ef she will ; 

She has scornted thoughts ob danger, 
An' no thought ob harm can change her, 

She has spread her sails ter Heaven 
And wid win' dey sho' do fill. 

Is you sailin', is you driftin' 

In dis worl' ob circumstance? 
Is you p'intin' straight or shiftin' 

On de reckless wabes ob chance? 
On dat san'bar is you grounded 

Fo' de depths yo' ship has sounded, 
Is you waitin' fo' good fortune? 

Fo' a signal to advance? 



Call yo' Will and make him Capt'n, 

Call yo' Grit and make him Mate ; 
Don' you wait fo' things ter happen, 

Don' you hitch your ship ter Fate. 
On de boun'less Sea ob Courage 

You won' nebber pay demurrage 
Ef you takes de tide tide of Get Dere, 

An' de win's ob Don' You Wait. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



IDhere the Fault Lies 



Do' de day be dahk an' dreary 
Ain' de sun up in de sky? 
Won' he shine out bright an' cheery 
W'en dat big black cloud pass by? 
Yes, de sto'm cloud oft' obscures him 
Dahkness in hits walls immures him, 
But de fault ain' in his shinin' 
Des de same. 



Do' de worl' seems black wid trouble 
Ain' de Lord erpon his t'rone? 
Don' you make yo' mis'ry double 
Bearin' hit yo'se'f alone? 
Yes, yo' dahk distrussness clouds Him, 
In a cloak ob doubt enshrouds Him, 
But de fault's dis side de linin' 
Des de same. 





^•w 



ALEC ANTICIPATES THANKSGIVING. 




ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



t^llec Anticipates QThanksgiuing 

Dere's a good time comin' some day, some day, 

Dere's a good time comin' some day; 

Dere's a good time comin', an' hit am' fah off, 

Wen de golden punkin' an' de apple sof 

Gwine ter come er hummin' f om de kitchen lof ' ; 

Pies in de oben — cider in de trough ; 

Ain' dat ernuff ter make yo' hat come off, 

Ter folks w'at was de stahtin' ob Thanksgibin' 

Day? 
Hooray ! Tune yo' fiddle ! Rosin up yo' bow an' 

play. 
Dere's a good time comin' some day. 

Dere's a good time comin' some day, some day, 
Dere's a good time comin' some day; 
Dere's a good time comin' an hit's comin' soon ; 
Bas' dat 'possum wid a buttered spoon, 
Roas' dem taters right erlong wid de coon ; 
Tas' all de better if dey's dug by de moon ; 
Boss am too conspickyrus' long erbout noon ; 
Some folks don' catch de spirit ob Thanksgibin 
Day; 





ALEC ANTICIPATES THANKSGIVING. 



Hooray! Tune yo' fiddle. Let yo' vocal chords 

hab sway. 
Dere's a good time comin' some day. 

Dere's a good time comin' some day, some day, 

Dere's a good time comin' some day; 

Dere's a good time comin' an' hit's almos' here, 

Wen de apple cider an' de 'simmon beer, 

Gwine ter roll down yo' goozle lak day des don' 

keer. 
Hush dem chickens so dere owners won' hear! 
Scrape dem kernels f om de roastin' ear. 
Some folks is too stingy ter enjoy Thanksgibin' 

Day. 
Hooray! Tune yo' fiddle! Shake yo' feet an' 

jine de fray, 
Dere's a good time comin' some day. 



Dere's a good time comin' some day, some day, 
Dere's a good time comin' some day; 
Dere's a good time comin' an' hits almos' due; 
Wat yo' lookin' sad erbout? Glum an' blue? 
Wid de Spangle Banner flyin' an' de pahtridge 
too? 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



An' de turkey des a gobblin' lak he don' know 

w'at ter do ? 
How yo' gwine ter eat 'em w'en dey don' belong 

ter you? 
Am' yo' nebber been out huntin' des befo' Thanks- 

gibin Day? 
Hooray! Tune yo' fiddle. Dere's a mighty easy 

way. 
Dere's a good time comin' some day. 

Dere's a good time comin' some day, some day, 

Dere's a good time comin' some day; 

Dere's a good time comin' an' hits comin' fas'; 

But good times has'es, dey don' nebber las' ; 

Yo' day for pleasure mighty soon be pas', 

An' on 'simmon beer an' cider yo' eyes will look 

dere las' ; 
So tak down de jug an' git er gr'et big glass. 
Tu'n yo' back on trouble; put yo' gloominess er 

way. 
Hooray! Tune yo' fiddle. Lay dem woes an' let 

dem lay. 
An' jine in de spirit ob Thanksgibin' Day. 





FOURTH OF JULY ON ST. SIMONS. 



Fourth of July on St. Simons 

My, look at dem boats er comin' 
Ter dis oP St. Simons beach ! 
Hear dem yachts and la'nches hummin', 
Des es fah es ear kin reach; 
De Atlantic an' de Hessie, 
How dem big ol' boats do shine 
An' Cap'n Harry Berrie runs de steamer 
Emmeline. 

Des look out in dat ocean 
At dem people in de surf; 
Well, dey des kin suit dere notion, 
But I's gwineter stick to earf. 
I's gwineter walk dis beach untel 
I gits to Ocean View — 
Miss Annie, she gwine see dat Alec gits his 
dinner, too. 



Now dat big, tall house I's spyin' 
Wid dat little one close by, 
An' de Spangle Banneh's flyin' 
Lak a beacon in de sky; 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 




Float on flag, pertect dis nation 
As you flies on Ocean View, 
For yo's been a floatin' stiddy now since 
fo'teen ninety-two. 




&1 



* 



OYSTERS, TOO! 



Oysters, Tool 

Oshters, oshters; wan' any oshters to-day? 
Dese oshters come f'om Marylan' Bay; 
Wats dat yo' say? Marylan' am' no bay? 
Guess I hear dem millionaires at Jekyl, w'at dey 

say; 
Dat w'en dey was in Marylan' dey eat oshters out 

de bay. 

Oshters, oshters. Yes, ma'am dey is gran'; 
W'at dat yo' say? Looks lak dem yo' can? 
Little ? Yo' spec 'em ter be as big's yo' nan' 
Some folks thinks dey grows erpon de jelly-fish's 

plan. 
Dey ain' no better oshters in de bay ob Marylan'. 



Oshters, oshters. Whey I ketch 'em did yo' say? 
O, I des kotch 'em down erbout, dat ol' St. Simons' 

way; 
Kotch? Miss, ef yo' ketch Alec, yo' mus' rise 

befo' de day; 
Ain' I hear dem millionaires on Jekyl say, 
Hit's des de same salt wateh in de Marylantic Bay. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 




CThe Three Sisters 

01' Ma'am Charleston hide berhin' her wall, 
Am' gwine hab nuttin' ter do wid nobody er 

tall; 
01' Mis' Savannah, peerin' froo her trees; 
"Don' keer to meet no new 'quaintance ef you 

please." 
LiT Mis' Brunswick dwellin' on de sho' ; 
Who dat come er knockin' at my 'ristercratic do' ?" 

How dem inland cities sing in harmony? 
Dese des chant dere little minor melody : 
"W'at am vulgar riches, w'at am wealf an' fame? 
We is got er mine ob wealf right widin' our name ; 
Let dem inland cities strive and vie fo' place, 
Leave us but de prestige of a by-gone day an' 
grace. 



Souf ' win' blow mo' sof 'ly, 
Ripple froo de trees ; 
Dey sing to one anudder 
Dere sacred melodies. 




THE LIGHT BUOY, ST. SIMONS. 



cfhe Light Buoq, St. Simons 

De moon done curled ter er leaf, an' whirled 

Down de wester'mos' side ob de sky, 

An' ober de rim ob de ocean dim 

De night climbs swif and high; 

But way out dah on de outermos' bah 

De light-buoy sen's his beam: 

As f ah, as fah, as de uttermos' stah, 

Dat bright light-buoy seem. 

An' hit shines all night tell de mohnin' light, 

An' dem ships come sailin' by, 

An' dey nods an' dey dips, does dem big w'ite ships 

As dey ketch dat light-buoy's eye. 

Marse Oglethorpe's sailed ter er port w'at's veiled 

On de outermos' edge ob de worl', 

An' ober de isle whey he dwelt er while, 

De Banner ob England's furled ; 

But a light-buoy shine wid a loyalty fine 

Whey dat Church ob Englan' stood, 

An' Pahson Winn's gwineter bring right in 

Dem ships wid de Gospel good ; 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



He will preach and pray tell de farthermos' day 
An' dem ships come sailin' in; 
An' dey nods and dips, all dem snow-w'ite ships 
Ter de light ob Pahson Winn. 

Moonrise on St. Simons 

Moonrise on St. Simons, 
Silver on de bar ; 
Eb'ry little net ob wabe 
Is kotch er little star ; 
Now dem nets is spreadin', 
Wide out on dat beach, 
An' dem stars dey's sheddin' 
Right widin yo' reach. 

How come yo' cain' ketch 'em? 
Shinin' on de san' : 
Ain' dem wabe nets fetch 'em 
Spang up ter yo' han' ? 
Moonrise on St. Simons, 
Stars erpon de beach, 
Moonstones, pearls an' di'mons 
Fah es eye kin reach. 





THE DEFECTIVE ARROWS. 



CThe Defective uArrou?s 

You know folks say dat Love am blin' 
An' shoots at random dey opine, 
Widout no special mahk in min' 
On w'ich ter tes' his skill ; 
Wat mek hit seem lak hit were true, 
He shoots dem arrers two by two, 
An' mix affairs dey sholy do, 
Dey strikes des whey dey will. 

Now ef dem arrers w'en dey hit 
Could mek folks blin' er little bit 
Ter defec's ob de ones dey git, 
Den all come out all right. 
But la! Dey acts contrarywise, 
An' do' po' Love ain' got no eyes, 
Dem arrers seems ter my surprise 
Ter gib folks secon' sight. 



Look lak w'en Love unites dat pair 
Dat dey'd depen' erpon his care, 
An' wid each other's faults forbear, 
Nor look for dem too shahp. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Wat meks folks think that Love can change 
A human's ways an' mek him range 
'Mongst pasturers new an' customs strange, 
An angel wid a hahp ? 

Looks lak dat gal would comprehen' 
Dat she cain't change de ways ob men, 
Ef he's contrary now an' den, 
W'y don' she 'ten' she's blin'? 
An' w'y dat man cain't understan' 
Dey ain' no law in Adam's Ian' 
Can 'splain a woman ter er man, 
Is sholy pas' my min'. 

Wat meks 'em want ter harbor doubt 
An' try ter fin' each other out, 
An' put po' little Love ter rout 
Des lak his name was Sin? 
Ef each could be a little blin' 
An' nebber look no fault ter fin', 
Nor seek for wings on human kin', 
Hate nebber could git in. 

But la! Es soon es trouble vex 
Dey bofe put on dere X-ray spec's 




THE MOTH AND THE FLAME. 



Ter try ter see w'at's comin' nex* 
Ter be on time ter blame. 
Hit seems too bad dat Love cain't make 
His wictims blin' fo' pity's sake, 
'Cause Love he don' mek no mistake, 
Hit's dem w'at sees de game. 



CThe Moth and the Flame 

Now look year little can'le-bug er flyin' roun' dat 

flame 
Yo' gwine ter scotch dem little wings tell you won' 

know your name, 
A-flyin' an' a-flittin' lak yo' des ain' got no sense, 
An' w'en yo's bu'nt, es lak as not yo'll say hit's 

Proverdence. 

Des lak some people up an' does des w'at dey wants 

ter do 
Dey fix hit up an' patch hit up tell dey berlieve 

hit's true, 
An' den w'en down dey buildin' falls w'at's 

founded on de san', 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Dey moan an' sigh an' say dey's under Prover- 
dence's han\ 

Now dere yo' go right spang up to dat can'le's 

luresome flame, 
But hit has got a bu'nin' tongue fer all hit look 

so tame; 
Sometimes de innocenter dat a little tempter 

looks 
Df wuss he gwine ter treat yo' w'en he gits yo' 

on his books. 

I tell yo' little can'le-bug dat light gwine bu'n yo' 

sho' 
W'y don' yo' seek dem starry lights beyon* dat 

open do'? 
Yo' bu'n dem lightnin' wings ob yo's er git 'em 

full ob pitch 
An' yo' sho' drag dat sof bulk roun' lak grubs 

an' wo'ms and sich. 

Hit sho' look lak perwersity dat brings yo' ter dis 

room 
W'en all outside de air am sweet an' full ob rose 

perfume, 





zgyw 



THE MOTH AND THE FLAME. 



Whey yo' could keep dem little wings es pure an' 

sweet es air 
An' mek 'em strong, yo' little f o'm, up ter de skies 

ter bear. 

Dem wings was gib ter yo' ter raise yo' up above 

de groun' 
Whey in de heights ob glory yo' could des go 

sailin' roun'; 
But no sun ; dat won' do f er yo' ; wid stars yo' 

ain' content, 
On teasin' roun' dat can'le light yo's natcherally 

bent. 

Now dere yo' go — yo' git a singe; one wing done 

half-way gone, 
Dat odder one ain' strong erniuT fer yo' ter fly fur 

on; 
Oh, yes yo' talk an' argify an' say dat dat don' 

count, 
But watch an' see how high yo' go nex' time yo' 

try ter mount. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Dat flame is lak de debbil's totch a-bu'nin' froo 

life's night 
Allurin' human can'le-bugs by hit's enticin' light. 
An' soon de wings ob high ideals gwine ter git 

a scotch 
A-testin' ob de powers ob dat fascernatin' totch. 

An' w'en dem wings is bu'nt an' gone you crawls 

erpon de groun' 
An' nebber gits de vision dat you got w'en you 

sail' roun' ; 
You nebber see so fur agin ; de skies looks fur an' 

dim; 
De debbil's totch don' nebber light us nowheys 

'cept todes him. 

Hi, bug! Wat's dat? Now look at you! Ef 

dat don' beat de Ian' ! 
Erpon dat watermillion yo' hab took yo' 'cusin' 

stan'. 
Dat watermillion's gib ter me, leas'ways I think 

'twas gib, 
Marse John say, "Alec, w'en dey's ripe, yo' gits 

one sho's you lib." 





THE MOTH AND THE FLAME. 



So es I come erlong ter-night I chanced ter pass 

dat way, 
Dem melons looks so temptin' lak, I couldn't wait 

fer day. 
An* es Marse John don' say one's mine, I can' see 

any ha'm, 
In totin' des one million off f'om dat big million 
fa'm. 

Now can'le-bug remember hit am des dem little 

swings 
Aroun' dat tem'tin' can'le-flame, dat's gwine ter 

bu'n dem wings; 
An' w'en de wings' ob vision's gone yo' gotter 

grope erroun' 
Wid all dem creepin' creeturs on de dahk an' 

muddy groun'. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 




^ 



cAlec Plays the Fiddle 



r 1 r* r> 



CThe Fiddle Story 




ALEC PLAYS THE FIDDLE. 




ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 




A\ec Plays the Fiddle 

Dere's a little ripple runnin' 
Fo'm de wateh ter de Ian', 
An' de ma'sh-grass hit am tu'nin' 
In de breeze des lak er fan ; 
An' de sun hit am er-shinin' 
Bright an' hot an' almos' blin'in', 
An' dat co'n patch keeps remin'in' 
Dat de hoe am not er fiddle. 

Yes, dat little co'n am growin' 
An' some 'tention now hit needs, 
Wondeh why co'n should need hoein'? 
You don' hab ter hoe dem weeds. 
La! Dem breezes make me lazy, 
In de shade hit's cool an' hazy, 
Fer ter eat dat co'n I's crazy, 
But I love ter play de fiddle. 



Ole Marse gib me all dis clearin'; 
Some was sandy, some was loam, 
But hit kep' er disappearin', 
Tell I sca'cely owns dis home ; 




ALEC PLAYS THE FIDDLE. 



Yes, dem buckra fellows bought it, 
Mine ob gol' dey mus' ob thought it, 
Wen hit come ter wo'k, dey caught it, 
W'ils' I sat an' played de fiddle. 

Dey done make er pile er money, 
But dey wo'k tell dey wus sick ; 
Wen hit's cloudy or hit's sunny, 
Ter dat wo'k dem buckra stick. 
An' dere fiel's' done full ob cotton, 
W'ils' my wo'k is been forgotten, 
An' my plants is almos' rotten', 
But I love ter play de fiddle. 

Dat dere mortgage am er-hangin' 
O'er my head des lak er swo'd; 
I kin year it des er-clangin', 
Time ter res' I cain' erford ; 
Dat dere co'n am sho' contrary, 
Fiel' look lak er bu'nt-up prairie, 
Heat's de bad man's emersary, 
How I love ter play de fiddle! 

Got dat grocer's bill dis mo'nin, 
Dat man sho' is got his nerve ; 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Says he'll gib me one mo' wahnin' 
Hope he'll git what he deserve; 
Dem trade people reasons funny, 
Whey dey think I git de money? 
I cain' wo'k w'en it am sunny, 
An' I sho' won' sell my fiddle. 

Look at dat po' w'ite man wo'kin', 

Toilin', toilin', lak er slabe, 

Bet you nebber catch him shirkin' 

All he lives for is ter sabe; 

Dis yere yahd's so low an' sandy 

Trees would grow f'om sticks ob candy, 

Dis yere fahm could be er dandy, 

But I love ter play de fiddle. 

He don' come f'om nowhey 'roun' year, 

So I year dese people say; 

Dem hahd wo'kers don' aboun' year, 

Toilin', toilin', all de day. 

See him slabin', slabin', slabin', 

Wo'kin', pinchin', scrapin', sabin', 

Whey de road ter he am pavin'? 

Well, I love ter play de fiddle. 





ALEC PLAYS THE FIDDLE. 



Wo'k on w'ite man, life is flittin', 
Flittin, flittin', lak de tide; 
Keep on gittin', gittin', gittin', 
Don' you pause or tu'n aside ; 
Ain' no 'greement promissory 
You gwine take dat cash ter glory, 
Life hit am er soon tol' story 
Listen w'ile I play de fiddle. 



CThe Fiddle Story 

Whey de moss is wabin', wabin', 
Way down souf in Dixie Lan'; 

Whey de tide de sho' am labin', 
Dere de ole plantation stan\ 



Way down by dem cool green watehs 
Whey de crabs an' fish erboun', 

Dere was once de serbants quahtehs, 
Not one cabin now is foun'. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Dere's de big house still erstandin', 
Broken shuttehs swingin' wide; 

Open do's dat seem demandin', 
Wat's bercome ob dem inside? 

Yeller jess'mines trailin', trailin', 
On de fences an' de po'ch; 

Roses climbin' pas' de railin', 
Lookin' in wid mil' reproach. 

Major Roger an' Mis' Mary 
Useter live dere long ago; 

Am dat win' or ghos' or fairy, 
Make dis fiddle sobbin' so? 

Long dey live dere tell dey's fearin' 
Dey ain' gwineter hab no cmT, 

Tell one day two twins appearin', 
Almos' sent Marse Roger wil'. 

Dan dat boy none could be finer, 
Spoke de Major fo'm his h'aht ; 

An' dey call' him Roger Minor, 
So's ter tell de two apaht. 






THE FIDDLE STORY. 



An' dat name was not confusin', 
He wa'n't nuttin' lak his pa ; 

Quiet, dreamy, allers musin', 
Minor chord des lak his ma. 

But dat gal ! Well I will wager 
She had spirit 'nuff for two. 

An' dey call' her Mary Major, 
Dey wa'n't nuffin' she cain' do. 

Wen she wa'n't any bigger 
Dan dis same ole fiddle bow, 

She would fuss an' cut er figger, 
Stamp her foot an' tell us go. 

Den she'd 'pent, an' frow us kisses 
An' she issue dis decree: 

"Wen I gits ter be de Missus, 
I gwine set you people free." 



My, she was er high-bred creatu'e, 
Archin' foot an' tap'rin' han', 

Iv'ry skin an' clear-cut featu're, 
Pride ob all dis Dixie Lan\ 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Time she growed ter girlhood's station, 
Ole Marse tell her ebry plan ; 

She could rule de whole plantation, 
Ride as well as any man. 

But she was dat kin* an' tender, 

Ebry one she kep' in min\ 
We would gib our lives ter 'fen her, 

Bright an' teasin', lovin', kin'. 

Roger Minor went ter college 
Way up in some Northern town, 

So's ter git er pile ob knowledge, 
He don' wan' ter plant no groun'. 

W'en de summer time come blushin, 
O'er de Souf wid rosy tread, 

Roger Minor come er rushin', 

Brought er senior, young Marse Ned. 

O, de nights on dem verandas, 
Fountains ripplin', roses red; 

0, dem lanes ob oleanders, 
Pink blooms archin' oberhead! 





THE FIDDLE STORY. 



Senior Ned he done surrender 
'Neaf Miss Mary Major's sway, 

He won' let none else atten' her, 
Drove all odder folks erway. 

Wen hit come ter wealf an' standin', 
He could come right ter de scratch; 

Tall an' han'some, an' commandin' 
Mary Major met her match ! 

Gracious, but dat was er marriage, 
Flowers, can'les! Hit was gran'; 

Carriage, carriage, after carriage, 
All de wealf ob Dixie Lan'! 

Little bride she look berwitchin', 
Groom de proudes' ob all men; 

We'uns come f'om fahm an' kitchen, 
On dat weddin' ter atten'. 



Sped de months, den come er rumble, 
Trouble, trouble, in de air! 

Distant thundehs 'gin ter grumble, 
Clouds flit 'crost dem skies so fair! 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



At de big house all was quiet, 

Do' things seem' er little strained; 

I was mighty quick ter spy it, 
Do' ter silence I was trained. 

Las' dere come de Sumter firin', 
Bugles blowin' froo de Ian', 

Patriotic zeal inspirin', 

Roger Minor, 'come er man. 

Dem sof eyes bergin ter kindle, 

Dem broad shoulders straighten back, 

Odder folkses seem' ter dwindle 
'Fo his might, hit was er fac'. 

Bugles blowin', blowin', blowin', 
Callin', coaxin' fah an' wide; 

By nex' spring de blood was flowin'! 
Flowin', flowin' lak de tide. 

"Dixie Lan', my home's in sorrer." 

Roger Minor up an' say, 
"Wen dat sun shall rise ter-morrer, 

I'll be many miles er way." 




°v ** 



THE FIDDLE STORY. 



Lak er bolt f om blue skies fallin', 
Den Marse Ned he whisper low: 

"An' my country hit am callin', 
Mary, Mary, I must go." 

Silence, silence, no one movin', 

Not a murmur, not a sigh; 
Des de little clock erprovin', 

Time is passin', passin' by. 

Den say Roger, "Ned, I love you, 
Each mus' go ter 'fen his Ian'; 

God in Heaben watch erbove you." 
An' dey clasp each odder's nan'. 

Mary Major rose up slowly, 

Look' wid scorn at young Marse Ned, 
Lak he'd blasphemed sum'n holy, 

"Traitor!" Dat was all she said. 



Bullets, bullets, des er-flyin', 
I right dere in Roger's tent, 

Men f ' om Norf an' Souf er-dyin,' 
Blood f om bofe in ribbers blent. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Back one day come Roger rushin', 
Drop down anguished, hid his head; 

Seem' lak mem'ry he was crushin'; 
"Alec, I done kill' Marse Ned." 

Dat night w'en de moon was dyin' 

Me and Roger Minor went, 
Back ter whey Marse Ned was lyin', 

An' we bore him ter de tent. 

Roger Minor look' nex' mo'nin' 
As if Torment ruled de night, 

W'en de bugle nex' gib wahnin', 
He was fo'mos' in de fight. 

F'om afah I watched him fightin', 
In de thick ob shot an' shell, 

Seem lak deaf he was invitin', 
An' I seen him w'en he fell. 

Dat night w'en de moon was dyin', 
Ter his side my steps I trace, 

Foun' po' Roger Minor lyin', 
Wid er smile erpon his face. 





THE FIDDLE STORY. 



Firs' I tote one den de odder, 
Ter er safe place by de sho', 

Mary's husban' an' her brudder, 
Den I let Marse Roger know. 

Who dat walkin', walkin', walkin', 
In de moonlight col' an' bright? 

Nebber sighin', nebber talkin', 
In er robe so long an' w'ite. 

Am hit ghos' or sprite or fairy, 

Flittin' 'roun' dem headstones w'ite? 

Dat po' little widder Mary, 
Walkin', walkin,' all de night. 

W'en de Autumn win's beguilin' 
Follered Summer's scorchin' breaf 

Little Ned he come er-smilin', 
Den he closed his eyes in deaf. 



Life too weary for dat mudder, 
An' dey laid her down ter res', 

'Twix' her husban' an' her brudder, 
Wid dat junior on her breas'. 



ALL AROUND BRUNSWICK 



Jess'mines trailin', trailin', trailin', 
Ober fence an' groun' an' grabe, 

Roses bloomin' on de railin' 
Whey de oleanders wabe. 

And de mockin' birds am singin', 
Singin', singin', all de day. 

But dem shuttehs swingin', swingin'! 
All dem people, whey is dey? 

I's w'at's lef ' ob all dat glory, 
Life, you sholy am er riddle; 

I cain' neber tell dis story, 
Cep'n w'en I play de fiddle. 



W'at dem wo'ds dat buckra utteh, 
Say I's lak er hopper-grass? 
Seem ter me I year him mutteh, 
Dat I's libin' off de pas'. 
Dat er goose am allers boas'in', 
An' her gran'sir she am toas'in', 
'Ca'se he sabe ole Rome f'om roas'in', 
Jealous ca'se I play de fiddle. 




ALEC PLAYS THE FIDDLE. 



Some folks is so clost an' stingy, 
'Fraid ter use dere lips to speak; 
Golden rule am gittin' dingy, 
Tu'nin' ter er yellow streak. 
Look at dat dere co'n er-f rizzlin', 
In dem sunrays hot and sizzlin', 
Bet dere wan't no rain er-drizzlin', 
Des because I played de fiddle. 

Po' ole Alec's weak an' empty, 

Des one quahteh is he got, 

My dem melons sho' look tempty, 

In dat buckra's co'ner lot. 

Well, my wealf I's got ter squandeh, 

Who's gwine pay dem debts I wondeh? 

Dey'll git paid w'en I's up yondeh ; 

But I love ter play de fiddle. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




